Still scared of the dark.

 
A couple of things, among them the Guardian's Blog Awards 2003, has made me consider where this blog is going, and I think the answer is 'not very far'. I started it because I wanted to keep a record of writing and art, in particular writing my first novel, but it's drfited to include some personal issues and day to day stuff. Thing is, the personal stuff has to be fairly vague for reasons of privacy (myself as well as other people's) and so it can be quite inaccurate at times. My website, Darkworlds, is just about up and running now, so I can talk about writing there. And let's face it, I haven't the time to make this blog as good as it could be. I have a readership of around three, at a guess, and if any of these people actually want to know how I'm doing, they can get in touch the old fashioned way. So this may well be my last entry. Keep well.
posted by Julie at 14:49

 
After a chat with someone online last night about tattoos and employment prospects, I went into Truro today for a stroll and ended up in the Royal Museum of Cornwall's gift shop. One look at the assistant and I was drooling - she had one of the most fabulous tats I've ever seen, of a couple of characters from The Nightmare Before Christmas. My mother actually asked her about it and the woman was eager to show it off - Lal Hardy did it for her, free hand. The woman later spied Tim Burton in the street and showed him the ink. He liked it so much he took a photograph. Anyway, checking out Lal's website - for such a well respected tattooist, the site is pretty dreadful and doesn't do him justice at all - I found a photo of the woman's arm.

Isn't it gorgeous?
posted by Julie at 13:52

 
I'm back after another week in London, exhausted but happy. Travelling by train seems quite a luxury after driving, although after a break I think I'll be more than happy to get back behind the wheel. While up in London I managed to get a fair bit of work done on chapter 4, as well as spending a wonderful day down in Brighton. It was warm, hot even, and sunny, and T and I sat at a beachside cafe and drank coffee and just grinned and grinned at each other, then ate chips and fresh doughnuts before heading off to the Marlborough and having a couple of pints with the lovely Plums. The perfect day was slightly soured on the way home, due to being stuck at East Croydon station for half an hour. We headed for the Ladies and were met with three young 'uns who presumably thought they were at school - lighting up as if they weren't allowed to smoke elsewhere. Back on the platform, incredibly young women were tottering around in high heels, the man sitting next to me spent the entire time loudly asking everyone in his mobile phone book if they were going to a party in Grove Park, and everyone gave the impression that this was the high point of their lives. Saturday night is the time we can go mad, let our hair down, because Sunday can be spent recovering before we go back to our awful jobs... this kind of thinking has always depressed me, probably because I spent my schooldays with people who were aiming for that kind of thing for their lives, and hated my guts for wanting something else. I may well be getting old, but the air on that station platform seemed to be fairly crackling with the possibility of violence at any moment. It was a long, long wait for the train, despite making friends with the tiniest Yorkshire Terrier I've ever seen.

The trip back this morning was rather good, talked to an elderly woman who was going to the Eden Project for the day and got home with enough energy to saw up and clean the plank I found on Porthmeor Beach last week. I really want to do some more painting, so I should go on an acrylic buying trip again.
posted by Julie at 18:01

 
I dunno about you, but after all that I need some light relief, so here's something fluffy:

posted by Julie at 15:43

 
I don't usually lift other people's stuff to publish here, but Danny Lee's article, on the Channel 4 website, gives a good summing up of the Nazis' persecution of queers:

"Before World War II, radical artistic movements – such as the Dadaists (who were deliberately anti-art and anti-sense) – and political groups such as the Communists flourished in Berlin. The city, famous throughout the world for its relaxed attitude towards sex, was also the centre of Germany's gay community.

In addition, the German capital was the site of the Institute for Sexual Science. This had been founded in 1919 by pioneering sexologist and homosexual reformer Magnus Hirschfeld (1868-1935). His term to describe homosexuals – 'the third sex' – was in common use in the city at the time.

Despite Berlin's vitality, the city was like an isolated ship in a storm-tossed sea, thrown from crisis to crisis. In November 1918, from two Berlin balconies less than a mile apart, the leaders of both the Social Democratic Party and the Spartacists (who later formed the nucleus of the German Communist Party) proclaimed rival German republics.

However, the following January, after a Spartacist uprising, the movement's leaders Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht were tortured and murdered by right-wing army officers with whom the Social Democratic government felt it had to make a deal to ensure its survival. After the election of a National Assembly a few days later, Weimar, a small town outside Berlin, was made the new capital.

The Weimar Republic proved to be notoriously unstable. In the year of its birth, 1919, Adolf Hitler joined the German Workers' Party, one of many small, equally violent, racist groups. They had considerably less appeal for Berliners and other northern Germans than they had in parts of southern Germany, such as Bavaria. Nevertheless they played successfully on anxieties about out-of-control inflation, rising unemployment and feelings of humiliation and frustration left over from the country's defeat in World War I and the massive reparations that it had been compelled to agree to. By offering up the Jews and anyone they considered to be 'deviant' as scapegoats for all that was wrong, these parties began to grow in size. And Hitler and his National Socialists, or Nazis, began to achieve increasing importance.

On 30 January 1933, Germany's president Paul Hindenburg appointed Hitler chancellor. Among other restrictive actions, the Nazis began closing all gay bars and clubs and, in February, opened the first concentration camps. A national boycott of all Jewish businesses and professions was ordered at the beginning of April. And, in May, Hirschfeld's Institute for Sexual Science was closed and, a short time later, all of his books were burned – a fiery end to the first gay rights movement.

In 1936, Heinrich Himmler, Reichsführer SS and head of the Gestapo, told the Germans: 'Just as we today have gone back to the ancient Germanic view on the question of marriage mixing different races, so too in our judgment of homosexuality – a symptom of degeneracy which could destroy our race – we must return to the guiding Nordic principle: extermination of degenerates.' But it had taken the Nazis some time to reach such a clear view against homosexuality.

Although the Nazi Party had always been officially anti-gay, in its early years many groups who opposed these Fascists lampooned them as homosexual. Hitler's 15-year friendship with the chief of staff of the SA (Sturmabteilung – storm troopers or 'Brown Shirts'), Ernst R?hm – who was publicly known to be gay after he appeared in court on homosexuality charges in 1925 – lent credence to this propaganda. Despite the gossip about his sexuality, R?hm was central to the Nazis' rise to power, transforming the Brown Shirts from a few embittered ex-soldiers in the early 1920s into the three-million-strong vehicle for Nazi terror that the storm troopers became in the early 1930s.

The Nazis' initial ambivalence towards gays evaporated quickly when, in 1934, R?hm and 300 others were charged with conspiring to overthrow Hitler, who ordered their execution without trial. Following this purge – the 'Night of the Long Knives' – Rohm's homosexuality was cited as another reason for his murder.

With the SA chief out of the way, Nazi attacks on the gay community escalated rapidly, and in 1935, the Law for the Protection of German Blood and German Honour was passed. This amended the existing Paragraph 175 of the Reich Penal Code:

An unnatural sex act committed between persons of male sex or by humans with animals is punishable by imprisonment; the loss of civil rights might also be imposed.

However, whereas previously the only punishable offence had been anal intercourse, the new Paragraph 175a ushered in 10 new possible 'acts' between men as crimes worthy of punishment, including kissing, embracing and having homosexual fantasies. Despite this, many anti-Nazis still attacked the Fascists as homosexual, and in revenge, the Nazis became increasingly vicious, later exporting their persecution of gays to the countries they occupied.

Nazis did not refer to gays as Unter Menschen (sub-human) in the way they did Jews. Homosexuals were regarded as diseased and in need of treatment. As a result, thousands were subjected to torture, often ending in death, in an attempt to deter them from being gay. Nevertheless, the 'diseased' tag did not protect gays from incarceration.

When homosexuals first began arriving in prisons and concentration camps, they were marked out with 'Paragraph 175' written on their backs. As hundreds of inmates turned into thousands, this badge was changed to a pink triangle, in the same way that the label Juden ('Jew') was changed to a yellow Star of David. Pink triangles were also used for sex offenders such as paedophiles, further associating gays with 'perverts'.

Since Nazis regarded women as mere vessels for bearing children, lesbianism was never a major issue. Gay women were never attacked in the same way that gay men were persecuted. Homosexual men were seen as a threat to the state and likely to reduce the potential for waging war and purifying the Germanic race.

Nazis were by no means alone in their persecution of gays. The infamous Paragraph 175 had been added to the Reich Penal Code as long ago as 1871, more than 60 years before Hitler took power. It was just one more development in a long line of legislation around the world aimed at punishing homosexuals.

In England, for example, the persecution of gays also has a long history – as long ago as 1290, there were laws punishing homosexual acts with death. During the period of Nazi persecution, the oppression of gays across the Channel was also accelerating. According to Sex, Death and Punishment (1990) – a study by Richard Davenport-Hines – in 1938 in Britain, there were 134 prosecutions for sodomy and bestiality, 822 for attempted sodomy and indecent assaults and 320 for gross indecency. In 1952, there were 670, 3,087 and 1,686, respectively. Through a law known as 'the blackmailer's charter', homosexual acts between consenting adults remained illegal in England until 1967. Even today, schools are restricted in what they can teach about homosexuality and there is no legal recognition of gay couples.

In Germany, homosexual acts remained criminalised until the late 1960s, and gays convicted under the Nazis were not pardoned until 1998. Unlike other victims of the Nazis, none of them has received compensation for what they went through.

The number of gay men who died at the hands of Hitler's Reich has never been fully established. It is not clear how many people lived in the gay community before or after World War II, and since many who were executed received no trial, there is only patchy evidence of how many were imprisoned or sent to their deaths.

Nevertheless, researchers estimate that some 50,000 men were convicted for committing homosexual acts, and that 15,000 gays died in Auschwitz alone, often as a result of being worked to death. At present, according to the historian Rictor Norton, the estimates for the total number of gay men who were killed by the Nazis range from 10,000 (undoubtedly too low) to 430,000 (probably too high)."

All this is linked to the two part drama 'Hitler: The Rise of Evil', which I thought was actually very good. Robert Carlyle as Hitler seemed to have the real feeling of the man (as far as I know) rather than the cartoon figure that Hitler himself appears as in some old footage of speeches and rallies. The sense of claustrophobia and things getting out of control as the Nazis crept into power was powerful. And very interesting to note that Hitler's talk of 'foreign invaders' 'terrorists' and 'you're either with us or against us' was amazingly reminiscent of the Blair/Bush double act. Click here for links to sites with more info on queer persecution by the Nazis.

posted by Julie at 11:31

 
The moon is full and so powerful tonight that the estuary is lit up even when it's behind clouds. It's all happening outside my window and I'm going to gaze at it for a while longer when I've posted this.

I used to hate the moon. All I could see was an angry face glaring at me. I'd hide from it - under the window, in the wardrobe, anywhere I thought it wouldn't see me. But now I really love it; the 'face' on it seems friendly, like it's looking over me. The fact that those I love most can see it too helps me feel connected to them, although it makes me remember that I'm far away from my favourite people. Ah, solitude can be bittersweet! I have the house to myself - for the first time in a year, I'm completely alone for a few days. It's euphoric and a little bit scary. I should be having a wild party, or at least someone over for a drink and my wonderful (ahem) cooking, but it's worked out at just me and the cats. But it's not a quiet life - at one point tonight, I was going from one end of the house to the other, stroking Jezebel in the kitchen and Teddy in the front room. Luckily they eventually made it to the same room, otherwise I'd be exhausted by now.

My sister wants me to go and see The House of 1000 Corpses tomorrow, with people like this man in it

And then come home to my little village. Alone. At just after midnight. Yes, that seems like a brilliant idea.
posted by Julie at 21:03

 
A wild day, weather-wise, so far: woke up to mist over the estuary and knew I had to start writing, so I fed the cats and got myself to the local Tesco cafe. Coffee for 65p and an astounding view of Carbis Bay, even through the driving rain and low cloud. It woke me up enough to move along to Zennor and take the footpath (past a horse that seemed to think I was the most interesting thing in the world - nice to see such beasts without police on their backs, running at me) to the headland. The wind was howling around me, looking at the grassland on the next cliff it seemed as if invisible fingers were stroking it, and the sea looked powerful and intense. It was one of those moments. You know what I mean.

Before coming back, I went into the village museum and found a huge selection of books on local folklore. Please, give me another life so I can read this stuff... a storm appeared as I left the shop so I got home drenched, but a change of clothes and some hot food sorted that out and I got back to writing again.

On days like today I wonder if I'm worthy of such a carefree existence/should at least be feeling guilty, so I posted on a messageboard about lifestyle and politics and managed to mess up the meaning so that it read like I'm living the life of Riley and don't give a fuck about the world at large (in reality I'm living the life of Riley but I do a give a fuck). Anyway, what response I got gave me a bit of a prod and so I've bookmarked Indymedia and listed it in the left (appropriately enough) hand column. It actually looks really good and covers local, national and international issues, which is just what I was after.
posted by Julie at 14:55

 
Decided to go off at a tangent, art wise, and sent a couple of photographs to The Horse Hospital, a wonderful gallery/art space in Bloomsbury, central London. It did use to be a horse hospital, I think, hence the cobbles on the floor. I've only been there once, to see paintings by Stephen Stapleton and David Tibet (Current 93/Nurse With Wound dudes). It goes for underground art, and I think the problem I'm going to have with what I do is that it's not very commercial - actually, I thought it was, but apparently clouds and boats are still what people want down here. Anyway, it's worth a go. I haven't really done much else today, I'm still wrecked from a mighty drive over the weekend: nearly 600 miles in 24 hours. Love knows no milometer, of course, and even Lewisham can look glorious when you're in the right mood. I drove back in the early hours of Sunday morning, awed by two owls swooping over the car and the sun rising behind me as I crossed Dartmoor, went straight to the market to meet A. We drank huge amounts of coffee, ate nothing, and went walking on Godrevy beach, trying to find me some new driftwood to work on. By the time I dropped her off, I was shaking from the caffeine overdose, but it was fun. I stayed awake long enough to watch most of Channel 4's overview of the Hutton Inquiry. What really gets me about the whole affair is not the fact that a government appears to have acted appallingly, but that it has been caught doing it. And the daily reports in the media are apparently fairly watered down: if I get the time, I really would like to read the actual transcripts.
posted by Julie at 17:05